


That asshole that owns the building

by mothmeal



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gay, How Do I Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25010182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothmeal/pseuds/mothmeal
Summary: *actual summary*A fucking fluffy little 1-5k word fic in which I explore the concept of not writing a slowburn?????? Anyways, they're flatmates, Jon is an asshole who edits at a publishing company and Martin runs a bookshop because I want him too. There will be a pet cat, do not worry, but it is still to be named. I will also be endeavoring in this to call Elias an asshole as many times as possible because I hate him. Njoy I guess?ALSO KILL ME IT WONT LET ME TAG PROPERLY :(((Forgive me, it is late, I am stupid of brain pure of heart and thicc of ass and I am going to write a smaller fic in which they r flatmates but I write the rest of it using american words n spelling.PLS I BEG I WANT A CRUMB OF AFFECTION 4 THIS
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 27





	That asshole that owns the building

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, this chapter is up. I know it definitely needs improvement, but I have a busy day (work and the HAMILTON MOVIE!!1!!), so unfortunately i'm going to be wooed by procrastination and hold off on a new chapter until I have properly fleshed out my ideas with the feedback that a wonderful user gave me. Anyways, have a wonderful time of day wherever you are, and enjoy the skeleton of this work.

Martin had made a point of trying not to care about others. All he had wanted to do was find a flat and not pay as much, so even after he had decided he'd be ok with someone else there, he didn't think that it would actually happen. I mean, who in the world would be so desperate to find a flat that they'd contact that bastard Elias not even 24 hours after he posted on the building's awful website, circa 2004.

As Martin, lost in thought, picked up, he wondered what they would be like. Now that he thought of it, that asshole hadn't even mentioned the gender of the person moving in. Martin started to worry, a persistent characteristic of him. What if it was an 46 year old man with back hair who kidnapped people and brought them back and then framed Martin and-no, this was fine, this was all fine.

It was even more surprising when he came home from the bookshop a week later and there was someone there. Long, dark, hair with a face that tried it's hardest to be indifferent and almost succeeded. Scars dotted his face, but perhaps they were just birthmarks. He stood up stiffly when the door opened, and stuck out a hand. This was going to be fine.

Famous last words, he thought. Of all of the people in the world, he had to be one of the most unlucky. He stared dumbfounded at the hand extended, pockmarked with strange, circular scars not a centimeter in diameter. He was almost transfixed, until the man cleared his throat.

Martin shook himself, and shook the stranger's hand.

"Martin."

"Jon."

Martin started to say something, but the words got caught in his throat, and the man simply walked past him, into the vacant bedroom across the hall from his. Had the man - Jon - already taken the opportunity to move in? That was odd, how in the world had he known where to put his stuff? Nothing was it of place. How unsettling.

If this was how it was going to be, stone cold silence and forced smiles, maybe it wouldn't be too bad. At least, it would have been, except he kept on thinking about the bags under Jon's eyes, his long, almost unkempt hair held back by an actual rubber band. How metal. He tossed and turned that night but still couldn't completely clear the mournful look on his new flatmates face from his mind.

Life was basically the same for Martin the next few days. Old man bouchard, (the asshole that owned the building) was still an asshole.

Although he was now not alone in his flat, he barely noticed the not so much a stranger there. Jon was in and out at odd hours, though Martin didn't notice it at first because of how quiet the other was, slipping out at 3 am.

Late one night, he was sitting up on the couch, reading his worn copy of The Book Thief, when Jon walked in. He looked even more tired than usual, the bags under his eyes almost resembling bruises. Maybe they were. Martin's memories were blurred with sleep and a little time. But for some reason, this Jon, he looked...softer, more vulnerable. He was wearing a faded Ghost Hunt UK sweatshirt over his normal work (read: dark academia) clothes, and it clashed so awfully that Martin couldn't help but smile. Jon attempted to smile, and yawned, and Martin realized that he was infatuated. Shit. 

"Shall..shall I put some tea on?"

Jon nodded, and Martin got up, folding over the page of his book, which he couldn't help but notice made Jon cringe.

And so, save a muttered thank you, and a few one-sentence answers given over a cup of tea, Martin had hardly had a chance to actually get to know him. After 2 weeks with barely any acknowledgement his way, he had just about made up his mind not to worry about that stupid idiot anymore when Jon burst through the door, smiled at him and ran to his room. Martin actually...swooned. Fuck.

He pretended not to notice, but kept watch on Jon, caring for him in smaller ways, and as the months progressed he grew to know when to talk and when the other had had a hard day. He couldn't help a smile from falling onto his face when Jon was around, and it bothered him. But he cared, and after an animated conversation about whether or not poetry was even good, he found himself blushing like a schoolgirl.

He cared, about the creak of the door in the middle of the night, a habit he recognized as Jon apparently worked all day at his spooky institute, early conversations since apparently Jon just???didn't sleep???? and had grown to anticipate them.

So when Jon struggled through the door at 8 am, his hair framing his face much like wet noodles would if they were thrown at a wall, Martin called into the bookshop and informed them that he would be coming in late. He had to figure out how worried he needed to be when Jon told him what was happening. Even if he had to drag it out of him, he would figure out what was happening. Everything had gone so well, up until....shit


End file.
